


A Shard of Glass and Starry Eyes

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Expanded Universe Lore, F/M, Force Healing, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Reader-Insert, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, The Force Ships It, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21763024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: Life about the Finalizer isn't very glamorous, but it's much better than the life you left behind slaving away in the spice mines of Kessel.Your only goal is to keep your head down and survive.
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 361





	A Shard of Glass and Starry Eyes

When your homeworld is invaded by the First Order, you manage to come out relatively unscathed. Sure, you’re forced into service on one of their Destroyers… but it’s better than working in the spice mines, isn’t it? At least you’re finally getting to see more of the galaxy. You’re getting enough to eat, too; it might not be great food, but you know you’re going to get something every day, and that’s a pretty decent motivator.

Fear is also an excellent motivator.

The First Order tolerates neither disobedience nor failure. People make mistakes, and they’re disciplined harshly - if not outright terminated. You try to keep your head down and avoid notice. It’s lucky that you don’t have a lot of useful skills, really, since the grunt work you’re usually assigned keeps you far away from the higher ranks of the First Order. The higher the rank you encounter, the more likely it is that a mistake on your part will lead to disaster.

Weeks pass, and you’re… well, you’re not  _ happy, _ but you’re content. You have your own room on the  _ Finalizer. _ It’s a tiny cube of a room, and you share a refresher with three other workers on the lower levels of the ship, but it’s more privacy than you’ve had in your life. Kessel was a harsh world, and you’d always dreamed you’d escape someday, that the New Republic would swoop in and free you… but they never did.

So, you try to be grateful. Maybe someday this newest war will end, and no matter who wins, maybe you’ll be able to have your own life, to use your meager wages and buy a little apartment on one of the peaceful Core Worlds, to find a trade that doesn’t involve toiling away for others day in and day out.  _ Keep your head down, _ you remind yourself every single day.  _ Do your job. Stay alive. That’s all that matters. _

It’s amusing to you that they bother to pay you any wages at all, considering you’d probably be shot if you tried to leave. The credits aren’t much, but you hoard them away, never spending even a single one on any of the little luxuries that tempt so many of the others. You eat basic rations, you don’t gamble, and you don’t seek out any sort of entertainment on the rare occasions that you have time to spare.

You feel like you’re doing a good job of making the best of things.

It’s a terrible shock, then, when you’re assigned to a unit in the upper levels one morning, told that you’re going to be cleaning Supreme Leader Kylo Ren’s quarters.

“Droid work,” one of the other workers complains as the elevator ascends. “They’ve got us doing droid work.”

The Storm Trooper escorting you laughs, his voice warped by his helmet. “Cheaper to replace you than a droid if the Supreme Leader gets angry,” he says.

Your dread increases.

The upper levels of the  _ Finalizer _ are much nicer than below; the whole ship is polished and pristine, of course, but you can tell that care has been taken to make these halls aesthetically pleasing. Everything is bright and sterile, and there are large windows that allow you to see out into space. It’s easy to forget where you are, sometimes, and the sight of so many stars nearly takes your breath away. 

Your group is herded into the Supreme Leader’s quarters, and he doesn’t look very happy to see you there. You haven’t seen much of him before, especially with his helmet off, and it’s always been from a distance. He’s obviously tall, even though he’s sitting behind a desk, and he’s also much younger than you’d thought, the petulant frown on his lips somehow softening his features. 

“What is this?” he asks. 

“They’re the cleaning crew, Supreme Leader,” the soldier says. “I was told to bring them here for the table.”

“I’m busy.”

“Sir, General Hux—”

“I don’t care what Hux said,” the Supreme Leader interrupts. “I don’t want a half-dozen strangers crawling around my rooms while I’m trying to work.” He glances up, and your heart nearly stops when he points directly at you. “Leave one. Send the others back, and tell Hux I don’t appreciate his meddling.”

Everyone else seems pretty happy to be dismissed, and they practically flee from the room before you have a chance to try to convince someone else to trade with you.  _ Gods help me,  _ you think,  _ this is a nightmare. _

The Supreme Leader looks back up after a moment. “Are you just going to stand there?” he says. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t… They didn’t tell me what needs to be done.”

His eyes narrow, and you feel suddenly claustrophobic, an unpleasant sort of pressure crowding your mind. “Kessel,” he says. “Recovered from Sector D. K-D508.” He leans back in his seat, and you wish you’d just pretended that you knew what you were supposed to do, because now his attention is entirely on you. “You’re more afraid of me than you were of your slave-master in the mines.”

You duck your head. Does he expect you to respond? You don’t think your voice would work right now, even if you could think of something to say.

“There’s broken glass in the other room,” he continues after a heavy pause. “Pick it up.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” you reply, and you scurry off to what appears to be some sort of sitting-room, grateful for the dismissal. The clear shards on the floor appear to be all that remain of a glass tabletop, and it’s quite a bit more than you’d expected. It’s easy to imagine the darkly-clad Supreme Leader hurling it against the wall, too, which lends more menace to the scene.

Still, there’s a huge window that lets you see out into space, and you tell yourself that at least you’ve got a better view than usual. Your task is easy enough, though time-consuming, because nobody left any tools for you to use, and you aren’t about to go ask Kylo Ren if you can borrow a pair of gloves.

You feel the strange pressure in your head again after a while, and you try to push down your panic. People had gossiped about the Supreme Leader and the mythical Force that he wielded… and you’d assumed it was all just propaganda. When they said he could read minds, you’d assumed that he was just very clever; you hadn’t expected to feel him actually poking around in your head.

It’s very unsettling, but you don’t fight it. If he’s going to micromanage you while you’re working, you’d rather him do it from the other room than for him to stand looming over you. At least there’s a door in between you and his legendary temper, for now. 

Most of the shards of glass are large and fairly easy to pluck from the white carpet, though a droid really would be better suited for the job. You suppose you shouldn’t complain. It isn’t like the spice mines. You don’t have to worry about freezing, or your oxygen running out, or the spiders catching you in a glitterstim web...

You’re distracted when a TIE fighter streaks past the window, and one of the shards slices into your hand, right where your finger meets your palm. “Kriff,” you hiss, and you pull the shard free and toss it into the waste chute, trying to stem the flow of blood with the hem of your tunic before it can get on the floor. It’s lucky that the material is a dark brown. Maybe it won’t be too terribly noticeable.

He’s still sitting at his polished desk, absorbed in whatever schematic it is projected in hologram over his datapad. When you clear your throat, he looks up. “Yes?”

“The glass has been cleared, Supreme Leader.”

Kylo Ren pulls off one of his black leather gloves. “Come here,” he says, holding out his hand. You step closer, stiff and awkward, and he impatiently snaps his fingers. “Your hand,” he says. “Let me see your hand.”

You’re trembling when he takes your hand in his, squeezing your finger as a droplet of blood wells. His hands are much larger than yours, and you’re surprised by how warm they are, given the chill air in his rooms. His gaze flicks up to your face, his expression unreadable. 

“You didn’t believe in the Force, did you?” 

You shake your head, then think better of it. “No, sir,” you force yourself to reply. “Never saw anything to convince me.”

“I’ll show you a trick,” he says, and for the first time, you think you might see some actual amusement in his dark eyes. “Imagine the most painful moment of your life.”

“Sir, I—”

“Imagine your fear and your anger and your hurt. Focus. Make it vivid.”

Speechless and confused, you conjure up memories of the day you were flogged, the bite of the electro-whip on your bared back. He’s seeing it, too; his eyes are locked on yours, but you can feel him  _ feel _ it, and you barely notice when he smooths his thumb over the cut, smearing blood down your palm. 

The pain is gone, and so is the wound. Only the blood on his hand and yours remains as proof.

“What—”

“The Force allowed your pain to heal you. Is that convincing enough?”

You’re still trembling. “Yes, sir,” you say, unsure of how this encounter can possibly become any more bizarre. “Thank you, sir.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand. He seems oddly fascinated by it, and you aren’t about to pull away from Kylo Ren, especially not after an unexpected moment of kindness.

His lip quirks. “You’re still afraid of me.”

“Of course, Supreme Leader.” You can’t imagine denying it. He  _ wants _ everyone to fear him, doesn’t he? You can hardly imagine that he’s going to be offended.

“But you aren’t trying to hide your thoughts. Your mind is wide-open.  _ Accommodating.” _

Once again, you find yourself at a loss for words. 

Abruptly, he releases your hand, wiping his thumb clean on his black tunic. “K-D508,” he says to himself, like he’s committing your assigned number to memory. That probably doesn’t bode well. Maybe he’s going to report you to your superiors for daring to bleed in his fancy quarters. “Dismissed.”

You half-bow, unsure of the proper etiquette, and then you hurry away as fast as you can while still maintaining some semblance of dignity.  _ What was that? _ you wonder.  _ What just happened?  _

There’s no Trooper waiting around to escort you back to your level, so you head for the nearest elevator, expecting someone to pop around a corner and yell at you for being so woefully out-of-place. Safely in the elevator, you examine your hand, slightly awe-struck as you rub the unblemished skin where the shard of glass had been only moments ago. It’s surreal. 

The rest of your unit genuinely seems surprised to see you, and you don’t know if it’s because you’ve come back so soon, or because you’re still in one piece. You’re sent down to work on cleaning up an oil spill in one of the comms units in a lower sector of the ship, and you focus on the task at hand, trying to push all of your thoughts about the morning aside.

It would be much easier if Kylo Ren would stop prodding at your mind.

You have no reason to hide your memories from him, or your thoughts. Really, you imagine that your mind is a pretty tedious place to be, but if the Supreme Leader of the galaxy is bored enough to poke around in your head for entertainment, you aren’t going to question it. 

When you wake up the following day, the laundry droids have delivered an unfamiliar red uniform in your size. Puzzled, you put it on and go to find someone to correct the mistake - you don’t have any spare clothes, and you don’t exactly want to face your superiors in the tunic and leggings you wear to sleep. Everyone stares at you, and you cringe; you don’t like standing out.

Standing out goes directly against your survival plans.

There’s a Storm Trooper standing by your supervisor when you arrive in the mess hall, and he waves you over. “K-D508?”

“Yes, sir,” you say, twisting the hem of your tunic in your nervousness. “I’m sorry, this was all that was left for me to wear today—”

“You’re going up.”

“Up?”

“The Supreme Leader has reassigned you.”

“Where to, sir?” you ask, perplexed.

“To him, K-D508.”

“Good luck, kid,” your supervisor adds. “You’re gonna need it.”

You’re a sweaty, nervous wreck by the time you reach the Supreme Leader’s quarters, and everyone you pass is still staring at you. There aren’t many people in the First Order who wear red, and all of them are a lot more important than you. It’s the least ‘keep-your-head-down’ color imaginable, and…

And Kylo Ren probably  _ knows _ that, because he was poking around in your thoughts yesterday.

The door slides open, snapping shut behind you as soon as you step inside. Kylo Ren sits exactly where he was when you left yesterday. You could almost imagine that he hasn’t moved at all since then, that he’d just been lurking in his darkened rooms all night long.

You stand with your hands clasped behind your back, waiting for him to say something, to offer some explanation of your duties. He just stares at you for an excruciatingly long time, that increasingly-familiar presence wrapping around the edges of your mind like a warm blanket.

“How old are you, K-D508?” 

The question is unexpected, and it takes you a moment to come up with an answer. “Under thirty standard years, Supreme Leader,” you tell him. “Between twenty-five and thirty, I’d guess.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, sir.”

You expect him to ask for your name, but he doesn’t. “You were born on Kessel,” he says. “Born in the spice mines, and you were afraid that you’d die there.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, hoping that he’ll get tired of this soon and tell you what you’re supposed to do. You don’t like inaction. It makes you feel antsy, like you’re doing something wrong, something that’ll land you in trouble. 

“Have you done something wrong?” he asks, interrupting your racing thoughts.

“No, sir. At least, I hope that I haven’t.”

He gives you an odd look. “Then don’t be so afraid. You’re where I told you to be. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Kylo Ren nods decisively, and you wonder what sort of test you just unknowingly passed. “Dust,” he says. “Start in the other rooms. You can come back to dust in here once I’m gone.”

“Is that… all, sir?”

It seems like a deceptively straightforward task. His rooms are already immaculate, from what you’ve seen. It’s droid work - and  _ simple _ droid work, at that. 

“That’s all for now.” He turns back to his datapad, and you assume you’ve been dismissed and hurry off to start your unnecessary dusting. 

He’s gone by the time you reemerge into the main room, and you’re careful to only barely touch everything; you don’t want him to come back and find that you’ve moved around his things without permission. It doesn’t take very long to finish, and you’re left standing uncomfortably in the middle of his quarters, wondering what you’re supposed to do with the rest of your time.

No one said that you were allowed to go back to your level to eat. No one really told you much of anything. You’ll be stared at as soon as you step out into the hall, and you don’t want word to reach the Supreme Leader that you’re trying to shirk your duties.

You stand by one of the small view-port windows in the main room and wait. It isn’t like you’re unused to hunger, or to being on your feet all day. Compared to the mines, in fact, this is pleasant. If you weren’t worried about becoming the latest broken cleaning-droid to be carted out of the Supreme Leader’s quarters in irreparable condition, you’d be fairly happy with the situation.

Hours pass, and when Kylo Ren returns, he seems almost surprised to see you. It’s very evident that he’s in a bad mood already, his dark eyes flashing. “Why are you here?” 

“You didn’t say that I could leave, Supreme Leader,” you hurriedly reply, your eyes fixed on his boots. 

He stops, taken aback. “You’ve been standing there all day?” he asks suspiciously, and you can tell he’s wrapped around your mind again. “You haven’t eaten.”

Even though he says it like he already knows it’s true, you nod. “That’s right, sir.”

“Oh, for… Sit,” he demands, pointing at one of the chairs across from his desk. He steps back out into the hall. “I’ve changed my mind,” he tells one of the Troopers standing guard outside. “Have a droid bring dinner.”

The door seems to slide shut with even greater vehemence, and you realize that it isn’t simply automatic - he’s slamming it closed himself with his powers. You hurry to perch on the seat he indicated before he feels compelled to remind you, bracing yourself for… something. You don’t know what to expect, at this point. It’s all too confusing.

Kylo Ren sits across from you, studying you. “You stood here in the dark for an entire day. That doesn’t seem very smart, K-D508.”

“Respectfully, sir, I was afraid to do anything else without your permission, or I would’ve cleaned more… and I didn’t want to leave, in case you came back and had more work for me to do. I don’t mind standing, or the dark. The view is—” You realize you’re rambling, and that he probably doesn’t care what you think of the view from his windows. 

“Can you read?”

“Only Tionese,” you reply, your cheeks burning. 

“You can’t read Basic?”

“No, Supreme Leader. I’m… I’m trying to learn. In the mines—”

“Bring your datapad here when you report in the mornings. Use your time wisely.”

You’re flummoxed. “Yes,” you say. “Of course. Thank you, sir.”

A droid enters and places a tray on the desk between you. Kylo Ren doesn’t acknowledge it in the slightest, and you try to fight the urge to get up and hurry out after it when the door opens. The air in the room is tense. 

“Eat,” he tells you. 

“Sir?”

His eyes narrow. “You’re starting to annoy me,” he says. “Eat.”

You don’t argue. If Supreme Leader Kylo Ren wants you to eat his dinner, then you’re going to do it. Of course, it would be easier if he wasn’t  _ watching _ you. There’s nothing about your face that can possibly be interesting enough to merit his attention, and it makes you horribly self-conscious. 

The food is good; it’s probably the best you’ve ever had in your life, easily defeating the rations they dole out in the mess hall. The part of you that’s always known hunger and want desperately wants to take some of it back to your room to hide away for later, but you doubt that sort of hoarding would be acceptable. 

“Why don’t you resist?” Kylo Ren suddenly says. “Why don’t you try to push me out of your mind? You can sense me there, I feel it.”

You pause, a spoonful of soup half-raised to your mouth. “Why would I, Supreme Leader?”

He seems frustrated by your answer. “Keep eating,” he says, and his gloved fingers drum against the polished desktop. “This assignment is permanent. You’re going to come back here every morning. Go down to eat. Come back here. Understand?”

Your mouth is full, so you settle for a vigorous nod. 

“Your onboarding assessment file doesn’t have any special skills listed.”

“I don’t have any, Supreme Leader.”

“Why were you and some of the other Kessel miners put on cleaning crew? All of you are physically fit. Why didn’t they put you into combat training?”

_ I guess he doesn’t bother keeping up with what happens to the little guys,  _ you think. You turn your head and tug down your collar to show him the brand burned into the back of your neck. “History of disobedience, sir,” you reply. “We… There was some trouble with the Colicoids who ran the mines. They didn’t like me much.”

When you turn back, there’s something in his eyes you can’t quite place. “That wasn’t your most painful memory?”

“No, the flogging was worse. Sir,” you hastily add, and now that you’re starting to inexplicably relax, you quickly shove a roll of bread into your mouth before the food disappears or he orders you to leave. “Took longer to heal. Kept tearing open...” You realize that this probably isn’t what galactic leaders consider appropriate dinner conversation, so you stop yourself. 

He’s got the very last remnants of a thin scar across his face. You wonder why it took him so long to get to bacta. You’d think that of all people, Kylo Ren would be able to access the best of medical care. Your own back is a crisscrossed mess; no one ever bothered to waste bacta or mechanosutures on the miners. You’ve always told yourself that it’s vain to mind the scars, especially considering how many others lost limbs or died underground, right in front of you. 

And there he is, right on cue, poking around in your head again. You wonder if he sees it all clearly, or if it’s all vague and wispy, since his presence is just a whisper on the edge of your mind. Your memories wander, and he seems content to observe. 

“You understand Thykarann?”

“Learned it from the Wookie miners, sir,” you tell him. “The masters didn’t like it, but they didn’t know much Basic. I’d translate some. I’m not very good at it.”

His fingers continue drumming on the table. “I was always told that the humanoid life expectancy in the mines was only a few years.”

“If you’re lucky, and if you don’t get sent down into the deep tunnels too often, then it’s less likely the spiders get you,” you tell him. “And… well, you want to know my trick, sir?”

He nods. 

“The spiders eat things that glow down there. Everyone’s afraid of the dark, especially when you’re so far down, hoping your oxygen holds out long enough and hearing the spiders clacking around weaving their webs. Instinct tells you that seeing is better, that you should power up an emergency glowrod. But the light… if you turn on a light,” you say, snapping your fingers. “That’s how they find you.”

“Your life sounds miserable.”

You bite back a startled laugh. He sounds deceptively casual, as if this is a normal conversation, as if he’s a random worker sitting across from you in the mess hall who’s decided to commiserate. There’s nothing you can think of to say to that without sounding ungrateful, so you decide to say nothing, and the silence lingers. 

“Why do you think we took Kessel?” 

_ More strange questions.  _ “For the coaxium, sir? The spice is worth a fortune, but the coaxium is more useful. Big fleets must use a lot of fuel, especially for hyperspace jumps.”

“And where are we going now?”

“Savareen would make sense, wouldn’t it?” you say. “You’ll need a refinery, and one in the Outer Rim, or there’s no point in having coaxium at all. I mean… that is what I would expect, Supreme Leader.” You fix your eyes on your now-empty plate as his gaze practically bores a hole in your head.  _ Stupid, stupid,  _ you tell yourself.  _ Stop rambling.  _

“How do you know that?”

You shrug. “When new people got sent down, sir, they’d talk about what was going on out there, and I’d listen. I thought—”

“You thought it would be useful someday, if you could escape, if you could make it off-world. You thought that you could hide away on a ship making the Kessel run.”

“I liked to hope, sir. It was either hope, or die.”

“And you didn’t die.”

“No,” you say, strangely pleased by the thought. “I guess I didn’t.”

You smile at him without meaning to, and he stands abruptly. “Go,” he says. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. Take the tray with you.”

“Yes, of course.” 

Your bow is just as awkward as it was yesterday, and you don’t know what to think when the door slams shut behind you once you step into the hall. He’s… You don’t know  _ what _ he is. You hand off the tray to one of the droids and flee to the lower levels, wishing once again that he hadn’t been quite cruel enough to make your new uniform crimson. 

You can feel him hovering around the edges of your mind until you make it back to your room, and you fleetingly imagine that it’s his version of escorting you. It’s a foolish thought, and it shouldn’t make you feel more secure, but it does. Your hope is renewed; like he said, it’s  _ incredible _ that you’ve lived as long as you have. Maybe that’s your special skill - survival.

_ Keep Kylo Ren happy,  _ you think. _ Keep your head down, keep Kylo Ren happy, and survive. _


End file.
